


We'll Go Down in History

by NeonDomino, SociiallyDiisoriiented



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dust and Gold, F/M, Fall Out Boy - Centuries, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 21:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3303467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonDomino/pseuds/NeonDomino, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SociiallyDiisoriiented/pseuds/SociiallyDiisoriiented
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some members of the Black family were more gold than others, but they were all determined to make history.<br/>Inspired by the song: Centuries by Fall Out Boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Go Down in History

“So many legends are told,” Cygnus Black told his family that evening. It was customary for him to make long-winded speeches at the dinner table. Usually, the topics revolved around current political matters, or a recent family scandal. That evening, however, was very different. “Some eventually turn to dust or to gold, but I want you girls to remember something very important, something to live your lives by: we are Blacks and we don’t belong to legends. We make History. Do you understand girls?”

His three daughters, Cygnus’ pride and joy, looked up at him with wide admiring eyes. They were young still; Bellatrix, his eldest, was only twelve years old, but Cygnus could tell already that all three of them would be beautiful beyond words. Beautiful, powerful and ambitious, Cygnus could foresee it.

This speech was one that Cygnus’ own father had imparted to him as well, at a similar dinner when Walburga and he were young and they had both striven to live their lives to honor their family’s destiny. Because that’s what it all came down to. It was a Black’s duty to follow his destiny and impact the Wizarding world, to be remembered, to be immortalized and frozen in History passed down through the centuries. He could only hope that his daughters understood the gravity of his words and of their meaning.

“Right now you are cherry blossoms, on the verge of blooming but it is the most perilous time for you. Just one mistake is all it takes to be forgotten or remembered, forever. Do you understand?”

His Cherry Blossoms nodded. Bellatrix nodded the most enthusiastically. Cygnus had high hopes for her; he could see the passion already burning inside of her. She was head-strong and smart. She would go far.

“Of course, Father,” she said, looking at her sisters with an air of disdain that came from being twelve and superior. “We’ll honor the Black name. We’re Purebloods, something this wizarding world tends to forget about nowadays, but we’ll make them remember the strength and prestige of our bloodline.” These words were ones Cygnus had spoken only a few nights ago during a particularly heated rant about how the Ministry of Magic was privileging Mudbloods more and more for higher posts. Cygnus was proud that Bellatrix remembered this, nearly word for word.

Andromeda, ten, pushed her food around in her plate. She seemed to be thinking over what he had just said. “Yes.” There was a musing pitch to her tone, like she was lost in her thoughts. “No matter what it takes.”

“That’s right,” Cygnus said, proud that his daughters were taking to their their duty so readily.

Only Narcissa remained quiet, though she nodded to acknowledge that she had been listening, that maybe she understood. She was only eight years old, the youngest of the three, but she was also the quietest. Andromeda and Bellatrix had not been so demure at her age. Narcissa preferred a quiet room, studying, letting her mother comb her hair. At her age, Bellatrix had been reigning chaos throughout the house, bullying the House Elves and giving her mother headaches. Still, there was something in her eyes that told Cygnus that when the time came, Narcissa’s dormant strength would surge and make him proud.

“Good,” Cygnus said. “Lesson adjourned.”

That night was the first night Cygnus told his daughters of their sacred duty as a Black family member, but it certainly wasn’t the last. He regularly reminded them of the importance of being remembered.

“You’ll remember me through these words,” he said, “but we’ll go down in history as a family.”

 

_“I can’t stop ‘til the whole world knows my name._

_‘Cause I was only born inside my dreams.”_

 

"What will they say?" Remus whispered.

"Who cares," Sirius replied. "I'm changing it all. Just because they've disowned me, doesn't mean no-one will know who I am. They'll see that I'm one of the few that actually lived his life. They will all remember me for it."

"You rebelled?" He whispered, smiling at Sirius.

"I lived," Sirius corrected him, lips meeting the werewolf’s lips, pushing him back on the bed. His hands moved down the Remus’ body, fingers digging into the werewolf's thighs as he pushed them apart, moving between them.

"I don't want to be a part of their history; we'll make our own, Remus."

"How will we do that?" Remus asked.

"By winning this war. By being as different from them as possible. By not giving in to their darkness. By being free, just like we've always wanted - always dreamed of being.”

He leaned down to meet Remus' lips again.

"Trust me, Remus. Everyone will know my name. I'll be in papers; I'll have everyone talking about me. I'll be famous."

"I don't doubt that," Remus replied.

"As for the dust and gold my family likes to preach about? The dust is back in Grimmauld Place, and the gold is here. The gold is us, Remus."

 

_“Mummified my teenage dreams._

_The kids are all wrong; the story’s all off”_

 

Regulus stared at the Dias, seeing the locket sitting at the bottom. He tried to scoop the potion out but it wasn't working.

He knew he'd have to drink whatever was in there to get rid of it.

Regulus had had his doubts for a long time now. He hadn't realised what he was getting into when he first signed up.

All the promises of glory and power? He would have been the heir to the Black family name. He would have still had that glory and that power from being in charge of the most powerful Magical family there was.

He thought back to when it was just an idea to sign up, back in the Slytherin dorms. Where it was just whispers and everyone was rushing to prove themselves.

Regulus had wanted to prove himself - mostly because of the disappointment Sirius had caused. He had wanted to show his parents that he wasn't a disappointment too.

But they were all wrong. There was no better world waiting for them. It was the insane ramblings of a madman.

Sirius had been right to get out, but it was too late for Regulus.

No-one would know what he was doing there; maybe he wouldn't live long enough to make much of a difference.

All his dreams were dust now. His only redemption sat at the bottom of that Dias. That small bit of gold that was just out of reach. Not for much longer though; he knew what he had to do.

Maybe he wouldn't make history like his parents expected, but he would do the right thing this time. He reached for the Goblet and began to drink.

 

_“As long as there is a light my shadow’s over you_

_‘cause I am the opposite of amnesia”_

 

Bellatrix remembered her father’s first lecture of their sacred duty to their family’s namesake as though it was yesterday. Since then, she’s held her family’s motto close to her heart. Bellatrix often thought about the words while lying in bed at Hogwarts: to be remembered,  to be inscribed in the history books, the Ministry archives, to be the name on people’s lips in two hundred years after one’s death… Bellatrix couldn’t imagine a greater legacy than that.

She felt privileged to be part of the grandest house of Purebloods, privy to this information: a mortal’s key to immortality.

“We’ve been here forever,” she often told any student, Slytherin or otherwise, who cared to listen. And those who didn’t, well, Bellatrix didn’t usually allow others that choice.

And yet, through all her boasting, she knew something was missing. It was more than wanting to be a part of the Black legacy; she wanted to make a name for herself, to be the first one people thought of when they heard the Black surname.

But how to accomplish this when she had so many distinguished family members?

The answer came as her years at Hogwarts drew to a close. It began as a whispered name among the Slytherin circle – Voldemort, people whispered; he’s come to restore us to our rightful place at the top of the Wizarding hierarchy. And then, the name morphed into something more sinister. The Dark Lord, for those intimate with his plans; He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named for those who knew their days were numbered.

The thought thrilled Bellatrix and she knew she had found her calling. After Hogwarts, she would join with the Dark Lord and Bellatrix vowed to shine among his followers, to rise up the ranks to reign terror and justice at his side. She’d be gold and she’d leave the dusty legends to the scum tarnishing the Black name. She’d make history as a Black. As Bellatrix.

 

_“Some legends are told;_

_Some turn to dust or to gold.”_

 

“It’s all wrong,” she said, the moment Ted opened the door and looked at her in surprise. “So wrong. We are not better, we are worse because we hold ourselves above everyone else as though they are unworthy to even know us. Unworthy to breathe the same air.  The story is all off, Ted, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to work this out.”

Ted wordlessly took her hand, leading her into his small flat. Her hand still in his, they sat down.

“I can’t stop, Ted,” she continued. “I’m here but I can’t stop thinking about everything my father told me - he said that we make history no matter what, so where am I in that history? I’m the one they’ll strike from the family tree, forgotten as though I was nothing. But I can’t bring myself to be like my sisters. I can’t give you up. I can’t marry someone with pure blood.”

“You’ll never be forgotten,” Ted replied. “You may not be remembered for the same things the rest of your family are known for, but you will make history too. You will make a different history.”

“My father said that legends either turn to dust or to gold,” she whispered. “I believe my running away makes me the dust.”

“All I see is gold,” Ted replied, bringing his lips to hers.

 

_(remember me)_

 

“We make our own history,” Andromeda told her eleven year old daughter. She was old enough to know now, about to attend Hogwarts. She needed to understand.

“We are Blacks, we share their blood,” Andromeda continued. “But the blood is like poison, it can spread darkness. We don’t need that darkness to make history. We are the gold, the light. They are the dust and the dark.”

 

_(for centuries)_

 

The woman's wand was held out in front of her, a Death Eater meeting her gaze as lights began to shoot back and forth.

Nymphadora Tonks couldn't deny that she didn't find this exciting. She would make history. She would be remembered no matter what happened. She would take out as many Death Eaters as she could. They were the dust that her mother had told her about.

Even if she died, she would be remembered for what she had tried to do. Her name would go down in history.

The locks of hair falling around her face changed to show everyone what she was.  She was gold.

 

  _“I could scream forever:_

_We are the poisoned youth.”_

 

On her wedding day, Narcissa admitted something to herself she had refused to acknowledge since she was eight years old and listening to her father tell them about their duty to uphold the Black name in history: she was not like her sisters. Narcissa knew she was not a leader, and as she recited her vows to this strict, handsome man before her, she made a very different set of vows to herself in her mind. No matter what, she would be the force behind Lucius Malfoy, she would support him and she would make sure he made history so that when the Malfoy name was evoked, they would know that he had married a Black. In her own way, Narcissa knew she would be making her father proud. And Narcissa so desperately wanted to make her father proud.

 

_(as long as there’s a light)_

 

Narcissa had never meant for things to turn out this way. To see her son so pallid and red-eyed; she barely even recognized him when he came home for winter break. She wanted to cry and hug him and tell him that he didn’t have to anymore, that it was over and she would protect him. But Narcissa couldn’t move. She sat on the couch and listened obediently as her husband berated their son for his incompetence. He had not yet unlocked the cabinet. He had not yet killed Dumbledore. The Dark Lord would punish them all, he shouted. Narcissa knew him well enough to hear the tone of panic in his voice, and to see the light of fear in his eyes.

 

_(my shadow’s over you)_

 

The war a blur to Draco afterwards. He remembered little snippets, the worst parts he wished he could block out: the Room of Requirements, Crabbe, Fiendfyre … and then when Harry saved him and he saw all the bodies outside, from both sides. The death, the stink of human blood and fear in the air.

Draco had thought this would be easy, clean. That the Dark Lord would take over and cleanly expedite the Mudbloods from their sight. The last two years of his life had taught him differently. He had been a naïve little boy, blinded by words filled with grandiose promises: fame, history…what was it his mother always said, something her father had always repeated to her and her sisters as children, something about gold and dust.

Draco had been fixated on the gold, like his hair, he’d always thought, vainly. But now, taking in the battlefield before him he realized – there was no such thing as gold. It was all dust; dust and dirt and disgust.

The one singular memory that shone through for him, other than the snippets, of the war, was seeing his mother emerging from the Forbidden Forest. She saw him and ran; Draco had never seen his mother run before, but there she was running toward him, hugging him tight and crying and whispering in her ear, “There you are, my love. I thought I’d lost you,” and showering his face with kisses. “You’re my legacy,” she kept repeating over and over and Draco thought maybe Dark Lord had tortured her and made her gone mad at the last minute, before dying. “You’re all the history I need.”

It wasn’t until later, at the trial, that Draco pieced together what had happened in the forest. Narcissa had lied to Voldemort, sparing Harry’s life in exchange for the reassurance that Draco had lived, and in the process sealing Voldemort’s fate and that of the entire Wizarding world.

Draco felt a surge of pride then, as he and his family awaited the verdict that would seal their own fate for better or for Azkaban. But at that moment, he didn’t care, because whether she realized it or not, his mother was history. And she was pure gold in Draco’s eyes.

 

_We’ll go down in history_

_Remember me for_

_Centuries._


End file.
